She returned to Tolchurch weary with her day’s work. Owen’s greeting was anxious-- ‘Well, Cytherea?’ She gave him the words from the report of the inquest, pencilled on a slip of paper. ‘Now to find out the name of the street and number,’ Owen remarked. ‘Owen,’ she said, ‘will you forgive me for what I am going to say? I don’t think I can--indeed I don’t think I can--take any further steps towards disentangling the mystery. I still think it a useless task, and it does not seem any duty of mine to be revenged upon Mr. Manston in any way.’ She added more gravely, ‘It is beneath my dignity as a woman to labour for this; I have felt it so all day.’ ‘Very well,’ he said, somewhat shortly; ‘I shall work without you then. There’s dignity in justice.’ He caught sight of her pale tired face, and the dilated eye which always appeared in her with weariness. ‘Darling,’ he continued warmly, and kissing her, ‘you shall not work so hard again--you are worn out quite. But you must let me do as I like.’ 2. MARCH THE TENTH On Saturday evening Graye hurried off to Casterbridge, and called at the house of the reporter to the Chronicle. The reporter was at home, and came out to Graye in the passage. Owen explained who and what he was, and asked the man if he would oblige him by turning to his notes of the inquest at Carriford in the December of the year preceding the last--just adding that a family entanglement, of which the reporter probably knew something, made him anxious to ascertain some additional details of the event, if any existed. ‘Certainly,’ said the other, without hesitation; ‘though I am afraid I haven’t much beyond what we printed at the time. Let me see--my old note-books are in my drawer at the office of the paper: if you will come with me I can refer to them there.’ His wife and family were at tea inside the room, and with the timidity of decent poverty everywhere he seemed glad to get a stranger out of his domestic groove. They crossed the street, entered the office, and went thence to an inner room. Here, after a short search, was found the book required. The precise address, not given in the condensed report that was printed, but written down by the reporter, was as follows:-- ‘ABRAHAM BROWN, LODGING-HOUSE KEEPER, 41 CHARLES SQUARE, HOXTON.’ Owen copied it, and gave the reporter a small fee. ‘I want to keep this inquiry private for the present,’ he said hesitatingly. ‘You will perhaps understand why, and oblige me.’ The reporter promised. ‘News is shop with me,’ he said, ‘and to escape from handling it is my greatest social enjoyment.’